


Cake Boy!

by gowoakechi



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cake, Frank Kaspbrak is Alive, Lesbian Beverly Marsh, M/M, Rock Stars, Track Star Eddie Kaspbrak, cake shop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gowoakechi/pseuds/gowoakechi
Summary: Richie Tozier is a big fan of classic rock—big enough to have a stan account on twitter dedicated to it, and one thing he likes to do is to celebrate the birthdays of rockstars by buying a slice of cake from the local cake shop beside his apartment—Frank's Cakes. It doesn't help that Richie finds the cashier—Eddie Kaspbrak—cute as hell, and it doesn't help that Eddie thinks that the names he's writing on every slice of cake with big hearts around it are the names of Richie's new boyfriends.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	1. Sir George

**Author's Note:**

> was gonna make this a twitter au but i think it'd also be cute to write!

The little bell latched onto the glass door of Frank's Cakes—Derry's little, local cake shop—jingled as the lanky figure of Richie Tozier walked in; hands now in the pockets of his definitely oversized windbreaker, striding to the counter as his glitter Skechers lit up on every step.

Eddie had been sat down on the small stool positioned at the side behind the counter, reading a worn-out, library copy of A Separate Peace. He didn't have to look up to know who had just walked in, he could tell by the shoes that were visible through the glass of the refridgerated display case. Without looking up, Eddie kept his focus on his book and said a little "Hey, Richie."

Richie rested his arms on the marble counter and leaned forward, "How'd you know it was me?"

Eddie stood up and shoved the book in his little slingbag that laid on another counter perpendicular to the main one. "Could see your shoes," he pointed downwards to one of the display cases.

Richie chuckled, "Dig 'em?"

"I think you're an idiot."

"Didn't answer my question."

Eddie rolled his eyes, fixing his light pink apron and adjusting the little shortcake hat that his dad thought was a cute idea for uniforms, "Who's the birthday boy today?"

At this point, it was a routine. At least once a month, Richie would come in and buy a slice of cake for someone new every time, and Eddie would always question it while Richie treated it like nothing. What was so suspicious about this was that, on the surface, one would think, someone who bought a bunch of cakes for different people had a lot of friends, and that actually wasn't very weird. Though Richie had always requested for Eddie to write the friend's name on the happy birthday cookie that served as a tag and a logo, and he would ask to draw a big heart around it—now, one would think that this friend is special. Eddie had always assumed that these names were that of Richie's boyfriends, and with this, he would assume that Richie was a massive player, and got a new boyfriend every two weeks. This was not the case.

Rather than a massive player, Richie was a massive rock fan, even bringing his love for it onto twitter. Whenever someone he was a fan of celebrated their birthday, he would go to Frank's Cakes and buy a slice of cake for them. Simple! The one thing Eddie got right was the fact that Richie liked boys.

So here they are, Richie's fourth purchase, Eddie had kept track. Fourth boyfriend since the first, he thought.

Richie let out a small snicker, "Today, Sir Eddie, our lucky celebrant is Sir George!"

Sir George Harrison, he meant, but he didn't think it mattered nor did he think Eddie cared.

Eddie nodded, "Flavor?"

"His? Exquisite," Richie did a chef's kiss.

"I meant the cake, dipshit."

"Surprise me this time."

Eddie groaned, "I'm not the customer, Richie! It's your cake."

"The customer wants you to surprise him! So do it," Richie said in a voice that he aimed to sound like a King who had just given an order.

Eddie made sure to roll his eyes so hard that Richie got the message, but he proceeded to scan the cakes they had available to pick out one for the dumbass across him. His eyes locked onto the strawberry shortcake, which was his own recipe—he made it with the help of his dad. He opened the display case and pulled the cake out, bringing it onto the countertop where they would bring their pastries out to fix them up for the customers. Eddie took out a knife and smoothly sliced a perfect piece off with precision, and went to get a birthday cookie tag from a drawer below the counter. He grabbed the frosting and wrote a cute, blue, cursive "George" onto the iced cookie, and placed it on top of the slice of the cake.

Richie watched this with extreme interest, watching how Eddie's hands worked and how he did it without difficulty. He would be lying if he said he wasn't in the least attracted to Eddie during this, and he would be lying even more if he said that he watched him do this every time without his thoughts bordering on dirty and extremely gay.

Finally, Eddie packed it into the box and placed it in the cute, pastel-designed paper bag of the shop. He quickly walked back to the counter where Richie had his cheeks resting on his palm, and put the cake on the counter.

"That's eight bucks."

Richie pulled out a crumpled, ten-dollar bill from the pocket of his jacket and pushed it onto the counter, "What flavor did 'ya make it?"

Eddie took it went over to the cash register, "I don't know, Rich. Exquisite?" He took two one-dollar bills out of it and handed it to Richie; both of them feeling some sort of spark when their hands touched.

Richie shoved the change back into his pocket and smiled, he reached out and pinched Eddie's cheek, "Cute, cute, cute!"

Eddie scrunched his face and pushed his hand away, "Ew! Stop it. Bye."

"You want me to go so soon? Oh, poor me!" Richie dramatically put his hand on his forehead and made an exaggerated pouty face at Eddie, winking at him.

He groaned and looked upwards, his neck facing Richie—he had to look anywhere away from him in order to hide the fact that he was probably blushing, he felt his cheeks were hot in the one second his fingers grazed his own face. "You bought aready, didn't you? What else are you gonna do here?"

"Talk to you."

Eddie's head flopped down to face Richie, "And why, pray tell, would you want to do that?"

Richie shrugged, "No one else is here. And we have so much fun together!"

At this, Eddie forced a pout. For a split second, he was about to break into a big grin, before he stopped himself from showing Richie any sign that would make him think he liked talking to him. Too bad he thought George was Richie's boyfriend.

Richie put his arm out and ruffled Eddie's fluffy hair, making the hat fall off, "Come on, Eddie boy! Tell me 'bout yourself! What'cha do when you're bored as all hell?"

Eddie quickly caught his hat and put it aside as he also did with Richie's hand. "What is this, a date? 20 questions?"

"Either's a-okay."

They made eye contact with each other, but Eddie quickly looked away while Richie's gaze never left him.

"Fine, I run when I have nothing to do?"

"Run? Where?"

"Around. I like to stop by the Kenduskeag sometimes and just lie down."

Richie nodded—their hands rested on the countertop, Richie scratching it while Eddie tapped on it repeatedly. 

"You really run? Like, willingly?"

Eddie rolled his eyes, "You lanky loser, I'm in track."

Richie raised his eyebrows and nodded again as if to say Impressive! "Track, huh? So do you have, like, abs?"

Eddie's expression immediately turned into a confused one—the hell is he talking about?, he thought. "No- what? Abs?"

"I mean! Don't you need a buncha upper body strength and leg strength for that?"

He wasn't completely wrong, in a way.

"No, I do not, have abs. I don't think track has done shit to my body."

"Really?"

"What? You want proof that I don't have abs?"

"Only if you'd wanna show me."

Apparently Richie was in a flirty mood for today, like he was feeling quite bold for a guy who would Naruto run away whenever he would "confess" to someone he liked. Their fingertips were slightly touching, not much, but enough to feel a little bit of the warmth. 

If Richie were to be honest, he did not think this conversation through, and he did not think about what he was saying before doing it.

Eddie looked at him for a moment, and he slightly moved his hands away. They exchanged a short, but awkward silence, before the bell jingled and another customer came in.

The two customers seemed to be in a middle of a small argument about which cake they're gonna get—"Adrian! We can't get two whole cakes." "It'll be fine, Donny! I'm very sure we can manage." "No- Ades- Oh my God."

Richie looked at them, then back at Eddie, "That's my cue to leave."

Eddie shrugged, "I guess it is."

Richie jerked up from leaning on the counter and grabbed his cake. "Well, see you 'round, Eds!" he ruffled the boy's hair one more time.

Eddie groaned, "Don't call me that!"

By then, Richie was half-out the door, "Sorry, can't hear 'ya, Eds!"

And Eddie watched his Skechers light up every time Richie stepped on the hard concrete of the sidewalk until it was nowhere in sight.


	2. Girls Just Want To Have Fun

Eddie touched his cheeks, and he had noticed it felt a bit hot. The couple (Eddie had only made a blind assumption, but after his and Richie's last conversation, it seemed fair to say that his judgement became quite cloudy) had just left with two cakes—although the taller man had been against the idea since the beginning, at one point, he had given his boyfriend (friend?) a fond look, and gave in. 

The coast was clear, and Eddie had turned around and pursed his lips—his palms on his cheeks, feeling how warm it still felt compared to this morning, when Richie hadn't come in yet. "What the shit," he whispered to himself as he cringed, replaying the whole scene in his head. 

"Fuckfuckfuckfu—"

Two knocks came from the small, circular glass window on the door leading to the kitchen.

"Eddie? Why are you making faces? You look like you wanna die," Mike opened the door and stepped out of the kitchen for a moment. His hands were powdery—full of flour, and he was wiping it on a cloth he took from the sink on one of the counters. 

Eddie was slightly embarrassed to realize that Mike had seen him—but it's Mike, and he could trust him with anything. He removed his hands from his face and turned his head slightly to the side, trying to show his cheeks.

"Are they red?"

Mike squinted, "Kinda. Not super noticeable, though."

"Shit."

"Why?"

The poor boy didn't know what to do. He's never even though of boys that way (at least he's never remembered if he did—perhaps purposefully forgetting and repressing the thought from ever entering his mind again). Eddie grew up with that useless excuse of a mother anyway; he had to believe in everything she said, whether he liked it or not. (Oh, my Eddie-bear! You stay away from that nasty little boy, I heard he's a—)

"Eddie?" Mike snapped his fingers a few inches in front of Eddie's zoned-out face.

"Mike—" he turned to look at the entrance to the shop, to make sure no one was about to come in and interrupt his gay-panic-venting session.

"—have you ever, um... Developed feelings for someone who you weren't expecting to have feelings for? And you didn't really want to like them because it would make your life way more complicated than it already is?" 

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he wasn't.

"Well, uh," Mike already knew what the latter part of Eddie's question meant, but he didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

He wasn't really sure on how he should help Eddie out, because his answer had already been no from the moment Eddie had said "feelings for". He didn't know why, but he just didn't think anything of crushes or dating. It just never happened. He was already satisfied.

Mike rubbed the back of his neck apologetically, "No, Eddie. Not yet at least."

Eddie nodded and looked down to his feet. He looked a bit disappointed, and a guilty expression washed over Mike's face—like he was punching himself and saying 'Fuck you, lack of experience!'

"You can still talk to me, though. If you need to get something off your chest, I'm here."

God. What did we do to deserve Mike Hanlon?

Eddie smiled and nodded, still not knowing how to process all the thoughts coming into his mind. He was getting a headache, at this point.

"It's not a big deal but... You know. I didn't think I would have to deal with something like this. I thought it would be simple to avoid dating or whatever, but now there's another problem I have to deal with," he felt like he was oversharing now, but he could tell by Mike's facial expressions that he had already gotten the message—Eddie thinks he might be gay.

"Eddie—what I can tell you right now is that—you'll be okay. I can't say that I relate to your situation, but I know you can get through it. You always do, Eddie. You're strong like that."

Mike knows about Eddie's shitty mom. He's met her before the divorce, and he definitely doesn't miss her (no one does and no one ever will). He knows how much Eddie has suffered because of her; and that's why Mike considers him as one of the strongest people he knows—because he's been through so much and yet he's always been able to keep that cute, dorky smile on his freckled face.

Maybe his smiles were fake. Maybe they weren't. Mike couldn't tell for sure, but what he did know is that Eddie's been carrying all that weight (figuratively and almost literally) for years, and he was able to carry it all the way until the end.

Eddie smiled at what Mike had said, he wasn't expecting him to act so serious about his issue—after all, he didn't really think much of it in the first place. Mike cared more about his problem more than he himself did. Eddie thought that it was maybe just because of the way he couldn't really think about it properly because—well—he's at work.

"Tell you what, Eddie—" Mike put the now flour-covered towel back on the sink and started to remove his apron. 

"—I'll man the counter. There's a kid's birthday cake in the kitchen that I haven't finished decorating. I know you like to decorate, so you can do it instead, if you want some time to think and calm down. It's only for the display, so you can just go crazy with it. You can even blast Cyndi Lauper, if you want. Use my speakers."

Mike is such an angel.

"Oh, god, Mike. You're too nice, I kinda wanna cry right now?"

Mike giggled at this, "Don't cry. I'm just doing my job as your best friend."

Eddie suddenly leaped onto Mike, giving him  
a big bear hug (although Eddie was definitely not similar to a bear—he was more like a small bunny) and squeezing him. Mike had laughed and hugged the smaller boy back. The way he hugged him looked like he was hugging his own kid, because of their height difference. Eddie was only a few inches below Mike's shoulders—he was tiny!

Suddenly, they heard the sound of a skateboard stopping outside of the shop, and the bell had jingled.

It was Bill Denbrough, the third and last employee of Frank's Cakes. He mostly did deliveries, and he had just come back from finishing all of them. His usually very-straight hair looked like a mess—probably because of the fact that he skates when delivering people's orders (which is definitely not what Frank recommended him to do, but Bill insisted on it.)

He had seen the two hugging and ran in the shop, smiling, "H-Hey, I wanna join in t-too!"

Both Mike and Eddie giggled at this, and they had made a small space for him to squeeze in. Bill left his skateboard on the floor and ran behind the counter to go and hug his two friends.

Bill's height reached about the middle of the other two's height difference. No one really knew anyone taller than Mike, even though he was just the average height, so it was either they were both too short, or they didn't know enough people.

"S-So what's up? What's t-the hugging for?" Bill had asked curiously, after the three had pulled away after a few, wholesome seconds.

Eddie shrugged, "Nothing. Mike just gives the best hugs." This was true, although Mike was practically just the best at everything.

Bill nodded, agreeing, then hopped onto one of the stools nearby—a big grin had formed on his face. "Guess w-what?"

"What?" Eddie asked.

"I t-t-told you to guess."

Mike stroked his chin theatrically, "Clairo's holding a concert here?"

Eddie's eyes widened and his head turned to Mike's direction immediately, "She is?!"

"No," he laughed.

"Ugh," Eddie sighed as he rolled his eyes and looked back to Bill. "What is it?"

"My news is d-definitely not as big as a C-Clairo concert but... I c-counted how m-m-much I stuttered while delivering. I-It was only about five or, uh, seven times—half of last m-month's!" Bill's expression was so bright, just like the smile he was wearing. He looked really happy.

Eddie and Mike had exchanged a surprised look—the kind of look that was half-shocked and half-proud.

"Holy shit, Bill! That's bigger than a Clairo concert! Sorry, Claire," Eddie had whispered the last part as if he was a kid who had just swore then apologized to God right after.

"Yeah! Billy, I'm so proud of you!" Mike had walked over to him and ruffled his hair, giving him a few firm pats on the back as he grinned almost as big as Bill was smiling.

He laughed softly, "T-Thanks, guys. Means a lot to me."

Mike's face lit up, "Bill gets a free cake! On the house!" he had shouted.

Eddie immediately looked at him in confusion and slight disagreement, "Hold up! When did we decide this?!" (Although, he, of course, still wanted to treat Bill nonetheless.)

"Just now," Mike smiled.

"Wait— well... Fine, then,"

Bill suddenly intervened, and protested in embarrassment, "G-Guys, no, it's fine."

Eddie shook his head, insisting, "No! Let us do this. I can probably make my dad pay for it anyway. He'd do it."

Bill was about to hesitate, but if he had to be honest—he did kinda want the cake. Moreover, he absolutely loved his friends' supportiveness, and he loved that they wanted to do this for him, so he just gave in. "W-Well, okay. T-Thank you guys. So much. I m-mean it."

Mike ruffled Bill's already messed-up hair, "Don't even mention it, Billy!" he had already went to get one of the cakes from one of the refrigerated display cases. 

Red velvet—Bill's favorite. 

One thing that working at a cake shop entails is knowing all your friends' favorite cake flavors, especially since they all work there—plus, Eddie's dad owns the shop, so it's not as if Eddie's just the regular worker. He's a bit more experienced compared to Bill and Mike, (not exactly in the cooking skill part, because in that sense, Mike takes the cake.)

"You gotta get your skateboard and put on the uniform, though," Eddie turned back around to them as he stood before the door to the kitchen.

"I still don't understand why you don't take Frank's old motorbike. He's offered to let you use it, like, a million times," Mike said. Frank's been trying to get Bill to ride his motorbike for delivering. He thinks it would make it easier for him compared to skateboarding and occasionally using Mike's car for long distances.

"I t-t-told you. If I ever even touch that thing, F-Frank won't have a m-m-motorbike anymore."

"I still don't know why my dad keeps that death machine! It's insane. I can't believe that he actually—" Eddie was saying, but his eyes suddenly widened, and he had stopped himself mid-sentence, knowing just who he sounded like. Mike and Bill noticed it too—they felt bad, but they decided to ignore it—for Eddie's sake.

Eddie groaned and lightly slapped himself on the cheek, "Anyway. I'm gonna go, uh, decorate that birthday cake," and he rushed into the kitchen as fast as he could. Mike could already tell that he became a bit upset; he hoped that his idea to make him feel better would work, and that Eddie would come out of the kitchen feeling less conflicted than before.

A few minutes later, Bill was already in his uniform—eating his free slice of cake as he and Mike talked while waiting for more customers. 

Music coming from the kitchen started to play; it wasn't so loud, and they could only hear it clearly if they went near the kitchen door—which Mike did. The song that was playing was Girls Just Want To Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper, and he had heard a few footsteps too—the type of footsteps you hear when you're dancing. He smiled upon realizing that, and returned to the counter—where Bill was already greeting a new customer whilst his plate of half-eaten cake was hiding in the corner, away from the customer's sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is 3 weeks late LMAO sorry<33 thanks doe luv u


	3. Spill!

Click!

Richie opened the door to his apartment—in which Stanley Uris was sat on a wooden stool in the living room, painting what seemed to be a bunch of birds of different species. A few newspapers were set down on the floor, although they were completely clean.

"I'm back, Stan Gogh!" Richie dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. Their kitchen was right beside the door, like in the show Friends—Richie and Bev had described it—which was one of the reasons they chose this apartment. Stan, on the other hand, did not like that line of reasoning, but he had let it slide. He liked the room anyway; he thought it gave them a lot of space to work. And it does, evidently, as he is painting in one side of the living room while Bev had space for the rest of her mannequins (no one liked them being there, not even Bev) and Richie had space for his music equipment. They could all work at the same time if they wanted to.

"Welcome back, Hendrix," Stan said as he painted another bird onto the canvas. Richie couldn't tell what species it was—he never really could—but he thought it was a pretty bird.

"When'd you start that?"

"After I got out of the shower. That was when you went Houdini on me."

Richie set the Frank's paper bag onto the kitchen counter, "No I didn't! I yelled outside of the door, 'I'm going out!'"

Stan's head turned around, following the sound of the paper bag crinkling on the counter, "You went to Frank's?" he asked in a curious, but almost teasing tone. Of course, as one of Richie's best friends and one of his roommates (although they were practically the same thing—three best friends who decided to move in with each other) he knew about the boy that worked at Frank's cakes who Richie wouldn't shut up about.

Richie put the box containing the cake out and shrugged. "I mean, yeah," he said with a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

"How is he?" Stan put his brush into the plastic jar which had contained tap water that had turned brownish-grey due to the paint. He stood up and wiped his hands on a towel that had been tied to the top of his easel, walking towards the kitchen counter, and grabbing a fork from the tray of utensils in one of the drawers.

"Hey, what're you getting a fork for! I need a picture first," Richie shielded the small paper box using his arm, making Stan pout.

"Fine. But you didn't answer my question, how's Eddie?"

Stan could see Richie's cheeks start to turn red. "He's okay, I guess? I don't know, I forgot to ask him..."

"So you went straight to flirting?"

Richie elbowed Stan's arm, "What! No!"

Stan sighed and elbowed him back, "Then what'd you do?"

"I ordered a cake? Stanley—stop being weird."

"No, you're being weird. I thought you'd wanna talk about him like you always do. What happened today?"

"No—"

A door had suddenly slammed open, and a half-asleep Beverly Marsh came out of her room. Her hair was messy (but still somehow looking good?) and her weird, very obscene anime eye sleeping mask was already around her neck. (It was originally Richie's, but he had bought it as a joke and never used it, so Bev decided it was hers now).

"You know better than to leave me out of gossiping over Richie's nonexistent love life!" she put her hands on her hips and made an angry, pouting face.

"You didn't have to say nonexiste—"

Bev ran and jumped onto the couch and started to pat her lap, looking at Richie with a very eager smile, "Come on! Spill!"

Stan smiled at how energized Bev was (like how everyone always did), and sat cross-legged on the couch right beside her. She was still patting her lap for Richie, as if she was a mall Santa Claus, and he had groaned before he very hesitantly sat on her lap. He turned sideways and put his lanky legs on top of Stan's—who rolled his eyes at this—and Bev wrapped her arms around Richie's torso, trapping him in her almost-motherly embrace (but she was definitely more of a wine aunt instead of a mom).

"So?" she asked, looking up at Richie with an expression that looked like she was anticipating some big, important news. News like a college application—except this was just about Richie's crush on the local cashier at the cake shop.

"Well—" Richie cleared his throat—the type that everyone knew was the signal for him to do one of his voices, "—well, Santy Clause, boy do I have some news for ya! Oh, my dear, dear, Santy, it was awful! 'Ya should have seen—"

Whilst Richie was doing that voice (which sounded like mafia-boss-type accent mixed with a child's?), he was making dramatic faces and hand gestures to match with his ever-so-annoying speech, and Bev had suddenly smacked her palm on Richie's babbling mouth, "Richie, you know I love you and your voices, but, give it straight."

He rolled his eyes, "I refuse to give anything straight, but fine."

Richie cleared his throat again, but this time, in a normal way, "I bought a slice of cake - you know - as I always do - and BOY LET ME TELL YOU! God really decided to drag me by the balls today and tell me 'You know what, Richard! I've decided - you will be looking like a fucking dumbass today in front of the cutest boy you have ever seen in your 19 years of being alive!' although, I mean, he didn't actually tell me. Obviously—"

"Yes, Richard. We know that God didn't talk to you today," Stan had interrupted, with a smug look on his face.

"Shut up, Stanny. Whatever, fuckers - back to me! Things were good. I think our fingers touched a little - I hope he noticed it too - and nothing was really new; our conversation was just like any other—me annoying Eds, and him getting mad at me! And then we were suddenly talking about track, since he does that - It's honestly kinda cute - and my stupid fucking mind went to that dumb tweet Bowers posted about all track kids having abs—I honestly pray to that asshole, God, that him and Eddie don't know each other. Anyway, you can guess what I said to him when all I could think about was fucking abs - I'm not telling you! But it was so so so so goddamn BAD. Thank Freddie Mercury that a pair of customers suddenly came in, because I don't want to know how I would have dealt with my dumbass—so I left! I made sure to call him Eds before I did - you know he's really cute when he tells me not to call him that—"

You could practically see the heart eyes jumping our of his skull—the boy was lovestruck!

"—And that's pretty much it, lady and gent! Tune in next time on Bev Forces Richie to Talk About His Very Much Existent Love Life!"

By the time he finished, Bev had already been leaning her head on Richie (although it had felt like she was leaning on the window of a moving bus—the fucker can't stay still when he talks) and Stan had already done the same to her—his curly, light brown mop of hair all over Bev's shoulder.

She had yawned the moment Richie had stopped talking, and she took a moment to pose like the thinker, while she thought about what to say about his mess of a flirting attempt—if you'd be so generous to call it that. She's basically all her friends' love therapist—despite being single—but the fact that she was a lesbian made up for that fact! Bev was literally the lesbian Jesus (most think that she's the lesbian God actually, but she thought that the latter had fit her better. She was more of the prophet-type, she'd say).

At this point, both Richie and Stan were looking at her, waiting for her very crucial feedback. They'd never actually confess this, but she was always right when it comes to love advice, and the reason they don't ever want to admit it was because most of her criticism involved brutal honesty—and the truth was always that they sucked at romance and they would both probably die lonely virgins.

She snapped her fingers, and both boys had flinched. 

"Richard Tozier, you are a mess in every single way."

Richie slouched, and the curious look one his face had been wiped off immediately, "I really told you all that stuff just to hear you say JUST that? Bevvie, I could hear that shit from Stan any day for doing nothing!"

"He's right," Stan nodded.

"Nonono—let me finish! Richie, you're a fucking mess, we already know, but surprisingly, you're not hopeless! Your love life may start to exist if you fix yourself a bit," Bev laughed, and poked at Richie's face.

"Fix myself? I look fine!"

Stan made sure to scrunch his nose up and give Richie a very disapproving look—one that said 'are you sure about that?', Richie just stuck his tongue out and slammed his knee against Stan's stomach, earning a sharp 'ow!' from him.

Bev sighed, "I'm not talking about appearance, though I do agree that you need a bit of a makeover—but that's for another conversation—I was talking about the way you act around him. Fix your flirting."

Aside from the very big eye roll he had done when Bev had mentioned a makeover, the way Richie had looked at that moment was a rare sight for them to see (although Stan was the only one who had really noticed). Richie looked focused, like he was actually serious—though it wasn't like he could never be serious, it was the fact that he was treating something like a small(?) crush like that. Stan and Bev had only ever seen that expression on his face when he was concentrated on writing a song—or when he was pissed while working on something else.

"Fine, gay Jesus. I hear ya! But you're gonna have to come with me the next time I go to Frank's," Richie said as he stood up from Bev's lap, and walked towards the lonely box of cake that had been left on the kitchen counter.

"Okay then, Rich. Someone's gotta help you out!" Bev teased.

He rolled his eyes as he took the strawberry shortcake out of the box, as he also took out his phone—for twitter. Bev followed him, since Stan had already left the couch and sat back on his stool to continue his bird piece. 

Richie smiled as he tweeted out a small birthday greeting for George Harrison, along with the picture of the cake—which had George's name written in the cutest handwriting Richie had ever seen (handwriting? cakewriting?)—and he felt as if he was falling for Eddie more and more. 

"So... Strawberry shortcake, huh?" Bev leaned on the counter, resting her chin on her palm.

"Yeah."

Strawberry shortcake—Richie thought,—Eddie loves strawberries, I think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stream OK by wallows


End file.
